Running From Your Past
by Sanctum To The Sinner
Summary: Stiles, hurt badly, fled from the pack and Beacon Hills. Getting to college, he was starting an internship at Google. What's he going to do with his a disfunctional group, and a boy prying way too much into his personal life to be safe. Stiles(Stuart)xGraham
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Internship. *gets elbowed in gut* *grumbles* Or TeenWolf.**

Stiles sat gloomingly in the Google building, hoping that he wouldn't be picked by a group completely incompetent. Looking down at his phone, he bit back any emotion at the messages he recieved

_Scott: Dude when u coming back_

_Derek: Stiles we miss you_

_Erica: Where the fuck are you?_

_Lydia: Hey Stiles_

Choosing to ignore all but one message, he responded to the one person he still kept in contact with.

_Hey Lydia. Talk later k?_

Now pocketing his phone, he didn't wait for a response putting it on silent. Looking up, he was met with realisation that they were forming into groups already, and that the annoying teamwork speech had ended. Dammit. He would have to interact with people. As he was about to get up and make some sort of an attempt at forming a group, he was stopped by an arrogant voice.

"You. Beanie. You're coming with me." Looking over, he was met with a boy his age, probably a little older since he is eighteen and a little young for college. This guy was around his height, over confidence oozing out of his every pore. Oh no way in his life time was he ever going to be in that hellish group being formed. Attractive women and prestigious college students. He had had enough Jackson's and Jackson cliques for one life. And he certainly didn't want to be on a close basis with one.

"Uhm, no thanks." replied Stiles snarkily, pushing up his glasses on his face. The face in response was one of surprise, anger, and… amusement?

"You don't want to be on the same team as _me?_ I'm a genius!" he scoffed.

"That's what we're all here for, "genius", so don't think you're anything too special."

Finally resigning himself to Stile's decision, he flicked his eyes down, _what was he_ _looking at? Oh, name tag._

"You'll be seeing more of me…" his lips curled into a smirk "Stuart." despite the over all douche-ness, Stiles would admit, his name sounded _really_ good on the boys tongue. Oh, he should _not_ be thinking things like that. _Snap out of it Stiles._ Stiles thought, now coming back to himself and realising to his inner mortification that the boy-Graham it said on the nametag- was staring expectantly._ Nice job idiot._

"Hopefully not." he rudely supplied, watching in relief as Graham took this as a sign to walk away. _WINKING AT HIM_ as he walked away. What the fuck? That was weird, but Stiles chose to ignore it. Okay, that was enough interaction, he was gonna sit the fuck back down and wait for some sane people to find him, because obviously standing to mingle wasn't gonna work.

~~~First ever linebreak woot-woot~~~

After the crowd had cleared and formed definite groups, it became very clear to him that no sane people had found him. Oh god, was he going to have to socially put himself out there? That sounded like a nightmare to him, but to his luck (or possibly future dismay) there was a small scatter of people left without a group in the area. He was already prepared after noticing this for the leftover mentor, who yelled out: "Leftovers, come with me!" He swore out of the corner of his eye he could see a smug smirk of the corner of his eye, but he ignored it and kept walking. _Asshole.__  
><em>

_Well, this was already turning out to be _fantastic_._

_~~~StilesxGraham~~~_

Well, it turned out worse than he thought. One was fangirl pervert, the next a terrified self abusive momma's boy, and the other two completely incapable. Each team given the same task to complete, and see who could do it the quickest. The task was to determine an error in computer coding.

Naturally the team went to trying to develop a detection of the error, while the stupid ones just went back in forth throwing each other ideas that didn't even make sense. It reminded him of Scott and himself in their earlier days. _Dammit._

"Would you two just shut up and let the capable people have some peace?" That was probably uncalled for, but he was far too annoyed and pained by past memories to think of that right now. The boneless councelor looked as though he wanted to say something, but was soon interrupted by them half heartedly defending themselves. He rolled his eyes and went back to work. They finally managed to get somewhere, and were so close. But to their misfortune, they were stopped. Graham's team had found the error. _Great._

_~~~StilesxGraham~~~_

Plopping down in his bed in his college dorm (that he had managed to go roomate-less) he checked his phone inbox, and noticed three new texts. Fortunately all from Lydia. One confirming his messaging, another asking how his day was, a third inquiring how his day was. He typed back a reply that seemed to fit the last two messages.

_Stiles:Thank god I'm back at my dorm. I'm surrounded by crazies and idiots_

He soon received a reply.

_Lydia:Well, what's crawled up your ass? _

They simply started to go back an forth bantering.

_Lydia: I go to go, it's getting late. _And to his astonishment, it had been three hours since he had started texting Lydia.

_Stiles: Okay Goodnight._

_Lydia: Goodnight. Also, I'm going to have to tell the pack eventually that I'm talking with you. Please just let me. I miss you being around. We all do._

He only replied with a quick no, but in reality, he was longing to say, I miss you so much. But he refrained. A tear slid down his eye.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> So just to make thing clear for those who don't get it, Stuart is what people officially call him now (Since in this his first name is Stuart not Genim), but since he is used to be referred to as Stiles, that is what he internalizes himself as. And his last name remains Stlinski of course :)

Anyway, so this was a request from Wolfgirl705, and I hope she likes it!

Have a rockin' day!

_-Sinner_

**Question Of The Day: do you guys have any story requests yourselves?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Teenwolf. Or The Internship.**

* * *

><p>A day passed, now they were preparing for their next challenge. A… Quidditch match? Though Stiles found this to be strange, he decided not to question it, being a 'Noogler' (he still found the term ridiculous.) and not wanting to deter his chances at the internship, he thought it only safe that he kept quiet. Plus, strange or not, this was freakin' cool! What other chance would Stiles get to watch a live Quidditch game? Graham however, felt the need to constantly speak of how above this "trivial" activity. Stiles wished he hadn't noticed, but for some unexplainable reason the voice kept him on high alett, seemed to captivate his attention like a planet in orbit. Fighting the urge to turn and look to the face that voice belonged to, he chimed himself into his team's speech right as it was ending. Quite touching he was sure, but he had long since stopped listening to the charisma and enthusiasm people exuded, it's only given him loss in life.<p>

Finally hearing the two bumbling men shout some sort of touching ending, he knew it was time to get ready. Strapping up in knee pads and getting his broom in place (Really? Stiles couldn't tell if he was impressed or not.) he turned to face the enemy. If he could handle a pack of angry wolves, he could handle a pack of populars playing Quidditch.

Then with the blow of a whistle, the game was started. They all rushed into action (Where Stiles decided in favor to text Lydia when he saw how terrible the team already was.) and they ran back and forth, getting the ball into the goal almost never, easily being triumphed. Stiles snorted and turned back to his screen, dissapointed in the quality of the game.

_L:So, how was your day?_

Well he couldn't just tell her "Well, I'm playing Qudditch and texting you during the game." He knew that would give him only one thing: the infamous Lydia text sassing, one of which he hopefully never would receive. Past crush or not, the woman was the goddess of text, able to easily strike fear and awe into all and any. Deciding to filter out a little information, he typed up a quick response.

_S:Okay. Better now that you're here ;) _It never hurt to flatter a little. Atleast, not with Lydia.

_L:Thanks._ Well that was a surprisingly short response for her. Normally she would soak comments that up. As usual they went on like that, talking even as his team failed miserably. But her comments seemed sweeter, missing their usual bite.

_L:Uhmm, Stiles?_

_S:Yeah?_

_L:I haven't actually been talking to you today. Someone else has been on my phone. _Stiles felt his his stomach drop, and he almost let go of the phone in his shock.

_S:Well if it hasn't been you talking, who_ _has been talking to me?_

_L:Scott. Scott's been talking to you._

And that was the moment Stiles' world went black.

~StilesxGraham~

Waking up in strange places was something he was used to, but waking up to a british voice? Was he in England? Pulling up his pale lids, he was surprised by what he saw. There was Graham standing above him, barking out orders to get nurses and doctors, which was the moment he realized he was still on the Quidditch field. Standing up dazedly, (Not before picking up his phone, thank god it was safe.) he stumbled right into the arms of Nick.

"Dude, are you, like, okay?" Ignoring the concerned face he pushed out of the light grip.

"I'm fine. Let's get back to the game." he snapped out shortly, and was turning to the field again when a strong grip had him by the upper arm.

"You will be going to the infirmary now, as you most certainly are not fine." the aristocratic boy tugged just as Stiles did the same, causing him to become completely disoriented and land directly into the smug boys arms.

"Fine?" He inquired arrogantly, and all Stiles could muster was a hollow glare of defeat. Trying to extract himself from the tan arms (to no avail.) he replied exasperatredly,

"Let's just go." If Stiles had been looking, he knew he would've seen the boy grin in triumph.

~StilesxGraham~

The nurse cleared him off with a 'just fine' condition, and just as he was about to sit up off the infirmary bed, a hand at his chest stopped him. A hand that had led him here in the first place. _Oh just **great**. _With an accusatory glance, the handsy boy started his interrogation.

"What just happened back there?" His crisp voice cut through the sound of other activities atound the building. _Deflect, deflect, deflect._

"The nurse gave me a clean bill of health Einstien, don't you remember?" Stiles then let out a mock gasp, "Unless… you have amnesia!" This only seemed to result in the other boy's increasing anger. Anger that was all to familiar to Stiles_… No, don't think about that! _The moled boy internally chided, snapping out of his head back into the matter at hand. Graham was now pacing back and forth around the bed.

"There's something about you… something you're hiding." Fear and anxiousness flickered across his face before he could ever stop it, and just as quick he pulled back into his mask of indifference, but it didn't go unnoticed. _Keep it smooth Stilinski_

"What are you talking about? I'm an open book!" He snarked, spreading his arms to the sides of himself. The dark haired boy now gave his trademark smirk.

"I will find out what you're hiding, like it or not." And with that he left, the last sign of him being the feeling of the boys hand that lingered on Stiles body, intentionally grazing arms and legs even as he walked away. And Stiles just sat there now, wondering what to do next.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Well I really don't have much to say, so have a rockin' day!

_-Sinner_

**Question Of The Day: Do you want them to finish the match? OR, I make up a new activity as a make up for quidditch!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I don't own these two beautiful fandoms sadly.

* * *

><p>Ever since Stiles little incident, the board of googlers (or whatever in gods name they were.) decided it would not be advisible to continue doing phyical activities, despite his insisntance to his informer (Being the one and only shy and silent,) that he was perfectly fine. And this was not even the worst of it. At all times he needed to be supervised by others for the sake of his wellbeing. When he was in his group no official supervision was neccesary, but sadly in other cases an official caretaker, essentially babysitter, had practically volunteered. To his lack of astonishment, it had been the one and only Graham. This also made them unfortunately… room mates. Well, it was unfortunate for him. His caretaker however…<p>

But it was a new day, and Stiles was going to try and bear the horrid situation. Now to just get started on that new day breakfast. But wait, something was off. Speaking of new a day, he still hadn't heard Graham get up, where he himself was already prepared for the day, and had plenty of time awake. Turning to see if the boy were truly still asleep, he was met face to face with the very person of his thoughts. Letting out a startled shriek, as he swiftly fell, his foot catching on air. Both fortunately and otherwise, he landed safely in the warm arms, which wrapped themselves around his waist and hearded him back into their kitchen countertop.

"I knew you'd fall for me eventually." he remarked with a smirk. Fixing what he hoped was his most convincing glare, he attempted to push himself feebly away from the other boy, unsurprisingly to no success. Not only was the shorter boys strength far greater despite stature, (How had he not noticed the definition of his arms? I mean, he's not jacked but dang.) his own body was betraying him, melting into the enticing warmth of the embrace. The stronger boy chuckled as the glare slowly slid off Stiles face. The stayed like that in silence for a little bit, staring deeply into each others eyes. His resolves was weakened, and the honey orbs fluttered shut with their nearly obsidian partner's as they leaned in slowly.

"Stuart," he mumbled, face now only centimers away, god, _lips_ only centimeters away. Just a littles closer-

A sharp knock came at the door.

"We have a meeting regarding the competition, report down to the auditoruim ASAP." It was Lyle, whose feet now padded quietly down the hallway.

The trance like state Stiles had been in was now gone, now snapped out of his reverie he took advantage of the fact that Graham was still slightly dazed, shoving him and bolting for the door. He pretended he never felt the burning gaze in him all the way to the meeting. Sitting down with his group (I mean really, who else would he sit with?) he made himself comfortable. Mr. Chetty walked onto the stage, an began speaking.

"As there were to still be the same fair amout of events originally planned, a new activity has taken its place. There will be a costume competition." He gave the audience a moment to digest the broad information. "Each team will be picking a theme, all of your own choice, and as broad or as specific as you like. Dress your entire team to fit that theme. Whoever's ideas and costumes combined are the best will win. 2,000 dollars will be granted to each team for costume and makeup, props, and any other needs, however no additional backround or added features besides what is on your person is allowed. Your brainstorming time begins… now!" The team animated to life, and immediately the spunky fangirl's face enderingly lit up, and Stiles could tell a thought was forming. Stiles was reluctant to admit this, but he had almost grown fond of the strange girl, and was amusedly curious (Though still dreading,) what that eclectic mind of hers had concocted.

"Little Red Riding Hood!" she blurted animatedly, looking about in excitement. Stiles let out a bitter little chuckle, a quiet sound that was swallowed from their ears by the chorus of noise around them, and not noticed. Oh cruel irony.

Despite Stile's internal disagreement though, they all seemed to like it.

"Can I be like, the axe guy?" stereotypically dumb blonde inquired numbly, looking as if he were satisfied with the idea, most likely imagining it. Everyone nodded their consent.

"And I'll be granny! But like, we can make her look attacked by a wolf." Neha cheerfully pitched in.

"And I can be the wolf, obviously, I mean I'm probably the most scary of all of you." Billy added, all of them excited to this spontaneous idea.

"And before we go on further-" Neha grinned evilly, looking at Stuart and Yo-Yo, "we need one of you to dress like little red. And because I refuse to allow you to change the strong woman that is Red." Neha cackled "you'll be crossdressing." Suddenly all eyes followed Stiles to his torso as he looked down at himself with dread. The indian girl grinned viciously.

Stiles really wishes he hadn't worn his red sweatshirt today.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Hey you guys! So for those of you who don't know why I've been gone (looks away sheepishly.) I sorta lost my password to my account. But I found it. And if they're reading this, I would like to dedicate this chapter to nightlockiss, Wolfgirl705, and sinling. The lack of revies and feedback deterred my drive to update, so getting reminders, support, and feedback from them are probably the only reason I have even decided to keep writing. So if you enjoy, please review, and go thank them!

Have a rockin' day!

_-Sinner_

**Question Of The Day: What should Yo-Yo be?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Wolftership (I know that was lame but I'm not sorry.)**

* * *

><p>"Not. Gonna. Happen." Stiles ground out. Neha had the gall to actually look a little affronted.<p>

"Stuart Stilinski, you are doing the world a disservice by not allowing them to see you in a skirt! And besides," She made her voice a mock whisper now "I'm sure Graham would love it!" for emphasis she wiggled her eyebrows, and Stiles was sure his face had likely turned scarlet.

"I-I-I don't know what you're talking about!" He snapped, taking a step back. She however took a step forward, putting a hand of mock comfort on his shoulder, patting softly.

"Oh honey, I'm a fangirl, if you were in a movie I would have already been writing dirty, smutty fanfiction about you." It was official, Stiles was dead. Embarrassment had officially 100% killed him. He was just hoping now that the burial would happen soon.

Saving him from anymore humiliation, Billy cleared his throat and asked: "So, what's Yo-Yo going to be?" And so i became an unspoken fact that Stiles would be red. The question is, had Stiles ever not been red?

_Line Break muahaha_

Stiles fiddled with the straps of his top as he looked at himself mortifyingly in the mirror. A black short skirt started at the waist, flowing down to mid thigh. A white button up crop top fell just above where the skirt started. Long white stockings of a similar silky white fabric as the top came to right above his knees, and were held up by red lacy garters that went to mid thigh. High heeled Mary Janes were uncomfortably placed upon his feet, (How did they even get any his size?) and a long red cloak, a bright rich satin had interesting lace designs swirling down it until it hit the hem at the bottom of his knees. They kept him without added hair or makeup, maintaing a "natural beauty" (Neha's words.) sort of look.

Needless to say, Stiles was not excited to do this. But they were coming up next, and no other options of escape presented itself, and as they called his group in he stepped up from behind the curtains without looking to the crowd. The Indian girl was worked so masterfully with makeup they added a decent 35 years to her, fake grey hair back in a wispy bun and slash marks through her victorian white blood stained night gown. Looming over her was Billy, looking almost too wolflike for his comfort, and he ignored the churning of his stomach. And as if he were just busting into the scene, there stood Nick in full lumberjack ensemble, axe in hand and looking ready to charge. At the end of the stage as if he were far away Yo-Yo stood, dressed in a mature but plain adult man's outfit, button up and slacks. He was aged as well, but not nearly as greatly. He was intended to be Red's father. And in the middle of everyone was him, standing in fake horror. (As he knew the expression of fear, of horror, all far too well.)

They only stood in their poses for a minute, but it felt like an eternity as the judges assessed from within the crowd, the telltale whispers from the entire crowd he knew belonged to his name. So much for hoping to be ignored by people. Finally their minute was up and they exited stage. However as his eyes flickered to the crowd before the curtains shut, all he could see were the dark eyes aflame.

Getting back to his dressing room, he felt relief. It was completely over. Putting another foot into the roomed, he smiled in expectance of reaching. the safety of his own garments. However, that relief was stopped dead in its tracks when he found that his clothes were gone.

Fuck.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>hehehe :3 This is going to be really fun for me. Oh, and I'd love to thank Boobear for inspiring me to do this event :3

Have a rockin' day

_-Sinner_

**Question Of The Day: Any side pairing you guys want?**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own** **Teenwolf or The Internship.**

* * *

><p>Stiles walked out tentatively, eyes scanning around the room, fortunately few heads turned back. Now h looked for his next desired object: a seat. To his horror he only saw one free option: the lone chair next to none other than Graham, who was currently looking his way with a combination of surprise and a glint of something that resembled a lion staring at a gazelle. Sucking up his dignity, and taking a deep breath, and moved forward, each step (my god was he glad he ditched the heels in the dressing room.) more humiliating than the next.<p>

Finally he had made it. Without even looking over, he sat next to him. Costumes came and went. Seriously, Candy land? Is that Pacman? (That one was actually really cool.) Ignoring the arm that had slowly been sliding atop his on the armrest, as he waited for them to name the winners. This damn get up better have been worth it.

"Thank you Nooglers for watching, and now for the results. The winning costume goes to… Little Red and The Wolves!"

Oh thank god.

Slipping his arm out from under the ever creeping one, and made his way to the stage. They got their congratulations, and exited the stage, Stiles feeling grateful for every moment eyes left him.

"Report here tomorrow for your next challenge Nooglers." and with that the crowd dispersed.

In the hallway, he made his way to their room, closing his eyes in a moment of relief for a nice change of clothes waiting for him in his room. Only steps away now, he was suddenly thrown against the wall.

Looking up his hood fell down as the taller much stronger boy look him up and down, a leer stitched harshly into place. Struggling became useless, so soon he slumped into the grip. This asshole was strong, almost, too strong?

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing alone in a place like this." A smirk replaced the one of sheer perversion, but it was nothing like the amused arrogant one he had become used to in recent time. A hand was slipping closer and closer to his skirt, and were the other hand not holding his wrists above his head, he would have slapped the intruding appendage away.

"First off, really? You're going with a line like that? Maybe next time you think of assaulting someone you should try a better line. Secondly, it's Google Headquarters for Christ's sake! Does it seem like a place ridden with crime?"

This received him a long deep belly laugh, and a grin that made him want to shrink and hide, teeth bared almost like a feral animal.

"You're feisty, I like it."

Leaning in (to which Stiles cried out, a "Hey! What the hell are you doing?" resonating in the deserted corridor.) to his neck, he took a deep whiff. Now bringing his eyes up to lock with Stiles, they flashed a dangerous gold.

"And apparently you know what I am too. What are you doing so far from your pack little red? You never know what big bad wolf is gonna come to eat you up." The dangerous murmur was deathly soft, sounded too much like a promise.

Had he not been paralyzed with terror, he would have commented on how utterly cheesy that comment was. Stiles had never been more grateful to hear the clear drawl cut through the air.

"Excuse me, is there a problem here?"

He took a step forward. He turned briefly removing his grip up Stiles skirt, allowing the lean boy to sag, now only supported by the grip at his wrists.

"Not unless you want there to be." he growled in retort.

Graham took another step, smirk now turning equally threatening, demeanor getting darker.

"Then by all means, lets."

And with that he released Stiles and charged forward, the boy landing harshly on his feet, rubbing the finger shaped bruises on his thigh and wrist.

Finally realization hit. Shit, Graham. As the wolf lifted his fist, he took at the wolfsbane packet which he had hidden in his garter. (Did you really think he wouldn't be prepared?) And threw it directly at the attackers eyes.

Stumbling back with a scream, Stiles made him a wall of mountain ash, however it was thin and wouldn't last forever. Taking Grahams hand, he ran to their room. Maybe not the best location, but in his panic he hadn't had much time to think.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WAS THAT?!" Graham screamed, turning to Stiles, throwing his hands in the air.

"No time to explain." And soon he herd footsteps approaching, loading his gun, conveniently hidden under his clothes, he aimed and shot straight for the heart. Sure enough the wolfsbane had all taken its toll, and combined with the bullet he was dead.

Walking over he touched the man, and softly whispered "Iakan Norsempta" and the body turned to ash. Putting his gun back, and loading it again (Because after this it wasn't a risk he wanted to take.) and putting it under his clothes, he got out a dust pan and broom, making quick work, then throwing the mess in the trash. God was that close.

Finally he collapsed on the floor, letting himself sprawl in a ball of shock. Graham swiftly approached. Huh, he had forgotten about him. It seemed as though he were about to scream, but seeing the look on Stiles face, his anger deflated, expression softening.

Lifting Stiles up, he put his arm around the boy and guided him to bed. He was about to turn and walk off when a hand reached for his.

"Stay." Only one word, one soft whispered word. And yet, all Graham needed to hear. Getting into bed, he tentatively wrapped his arms around the pale man, cradling the head to his chest, and removed the offending cloak.

He felt lips moving against his chest, forming a soft mumbled,

"Didn't think it was coming back. Sorry. So so sorry."

He frowned, and shushed the boy soothingly. Wrapping his arms tighter, he whispered back

"Sleep now, we'll talk tomorrow."

And with that the two fell asleep in the comfort of each others arms, questions unsolved for both, but were prolonged for the sweet moment of dreams.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Hey! Guess what! I have another chapter after this that's fully written! :)<p>

So if I can get 5 reviews for this chapter, then I will post it. :)

Have a rockin' day!

_-Sinner_

**Question Of The Day: I'm doing all** **new activities from now on, any ideas?**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**:** I don't own the fandoms I write about… yet.**

* * *

><p>Waking up, Stiles found himself surrounded by a soft warmth, and he snuggled deeper into it. Feeling a soft chuckle, it rumbled along his body from the warmth. Wait…<p>

Beds don't chuckle.

He pressed back with a loud squeak, only to be caged in tighter, stronger, by two arms.

"Good morning sunshine! Didn't peg you as a cuddler." The so called "cuddler"'s face became bright red, and he struggled with a renewed effort, finally his confinement relenting in freedom. Scrambling off the bed his butt hit the floor with a loud thump. Loud mocking laughter echoed through the room.

Standing up he glared at his captor, rubbing his likely damaged bottom. "Asshole." he grumbled.

Soon memories of the day previous came flooding back to both, and the mood became serious, tension almost palpable in the air.

"So," Graham finally spoke, slicing the silence in the air.

"Are you going to explain to me what the fuck happened yesterday?"

"So… uhm… fuck. Well you see… I mean, becaus…"

"Out with it!" he snapped, and Stiles exploded.

"IT WAS A WEREWOLF! Okay? and it was feral, so it was a bit more… unrestrained, so I killed it. AndIcouldbecauseImaybesortagrewupinatownwithwerewolves."

"What?"

Stiles took a deep breath, rubbing his lightly calloused palm on the back of his neck and wincing.

"I grew up around werewolves? I mean, yeah, I did. And I was, uh, in a pack, so I knew how to handle them. I kind of learned a little magic. And, I used some to kill him, because he was feral and crazy and kind of gave rape-y vibes? Uhm, so yeah, that's about it. Oh, and there are spirits, and pixies, those guys are little shits, and a few weird were's, like cheetahs and coyotes." He turned, prepared to leave. He let out a bitter smile when his face was out of sight, thinking of a past he had tried so long to escape.

"So I'll just go, y'know, forever, since I'm assuming you think I'm a nutcase."

And he was right about to leave when he was twisted around by the arm, and abruptly slammed into a wall. This whole slamming into walls thing is apparentally something that refused to stay at Beacon Hills.

"Now listen to me you right arsehole." The british boy snarled, leaning right in, face-to-face. "I threatened a fucking werewolf, just got told such things exist, and now you just think you can leave? Because I'd think you're crazy?! No chance in bloody hell you're escaping me after all this, you're mine." And with that he smashed his lips into the taller boys, gripping the brown strands of hair with one hand so tightly it felt they'd fall out. As his other hand slid up, it made it's way to the knee, then to his garter, where Stiles broke away, scarlet faced again as he realized he was still in the day old stripper ensemble.

Graham simply smirked.

"Does that answer my questioning of your sanity?" Not trusting his words, he nodded breathlessly.

"Now Stuart, let's get ready for our next meeting."

He let a smile, small but present and visible, creep to his face.

"Call me Stiles."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> My brother had broken my ipod, so I had to rewrite all my updates. But I'm back! :)

Have a rockin' day!

_-Sinner_

**QOTD: Again, any new activities for my little nooglers?**


End file.
